


Every Minute More Unprepared

by dynamicsymmetry



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Bethyl Smut Week, Bethyl Smut Week August 2016, F/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:38:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8016088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dynamicsymmetry/pseuds/dynamicsymmetry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth is sure that tonight they're finally going to have sex. But maybe what Daryl needs most is permission to not rush ahead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Minute More Unprepared

**Author's Note:**

> Short little thing written for this past Bethyl Smut Week, to the prompt of [this gif.](http://the-perks-of-eating-pussy.tumblr.com/post/148874277061) I already [posted it on Tumblr,](http://dynamicsymmetry.tumblr.com/post/149300222046/kicking-bethyl-smut-week-off-a-few-hours-early) but figured it should go here too. ❤️
> 
> Assume this is taking place in your standard Beth-Lived-And-Found-The-ASZ setting.
> 
> [Title.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCR0Tr2HTfA)

He’s shaking the first time he puts his hands on her.

He won’t stop. He’ll always shake when he touches her, even when it recedes to the faintest tremor at his edges, as if he’s being stirred by a breeze. She’ll get to like it because she’ll understand what it means, but right now it’s making her feel awkward, his uncertainty bleeding into her, and lying half under him with his hand on her hip, she’s filled with the unwelcome urge to cross her arms over her bare chest. Cover herself. Not hiding her breasts from him because she doesn’t want him to see, but because maybe it’ll make it easier for him.

He looked at her when she unclasped her bra and slipped it down her shoulders and let it fall, and sat there on the bed in nothing but her panties. He stared at her, rolled back on his knees in front of her, and as his gaze roamed over her she was conscious of herself in a way she’s never been before - that she’s small, that her tits swell just a bit when she presses her arms against her sides, that her nipples are tiny and hard in the cool air and the hot flutter between her legs.

He stared at her as if she was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen, and then he stopped being able to look at her like that at all. His eyes flicked away. Nervous. Shy. Maybe he was fighting the feeling that he shouldn’t, even if she essentially stripped herself for him. Even if from the beginning, they’ve only been doing this because she made him believe she wanted to.

Or she sort of did.

She reached for him, his shoulder. He flinched slightly when she touched him, and then he looked embarrassed in addition to nervous, and she battled back frustration as she tugged him clumsily down on top of her.

Now he’s shaking. And he’s only touching her side.

She doesn’t know what she expected. For him to be the self-assured one? Sure, maybe. She’s not technically a virgin, but it was only a couple of times, and it’s been so long that she figures she might as well be. She doesn’t know exactly how old he is, but he has to have at least fifteen years on her. He has to be _experienced._

Sure as hell doesn’t seem like it.

His face is thrown mostly into shadow in the dim lamplight, his hair obscuring his eyes. She wonders if he would like it better if the lights were off. She wonders if she’s radically overthinking this. He shifts and she feels his cock pressing hard against her thigh, and a rush of heat pours into her cheeks and her ears and her pussy, and she thinks _thank God, he still wants it._

She saw it when she took her shirt off, a bulge straining against his fly, and it’s ridiculous, given the hell she went through to get here and what those months have forced her to become, but her mouth dried up. Because it was real. Because he’s going to be _in her_.

Because he’s going to fuck her.

Except now he’s shaking, his breath coming in shallow gasps that stutter when she lifts a hand and combs her fingers through his hair. Combs it back, so she can see his eyes.

They’re glistening. Wet.

She freezes. “Daryl?”

“‘m fine,” he mutters, ducks his head, but she doesn’t let him go.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“You’re a bad liar,” she murmurs, gives him a cautious little smile and glides a finger down his jaw. He can’t think she’s making fun of him. She won’t have that. “Look, I told you… It’s okay. I want it. I want you.”

“I know, it ain’t that, it's…” He trails off, jaw tense, everything tense even though he hasn’t lost any of his erection, and she realizes that she basically trapped him into admitting that he was indeed lying, and she’s almost sorry.

He’s touching her like he’s scared he might break her, but she’s honestly beginning to believe _she_ might be the one who breaks him if she puts a foot wrong.

“What?” she breathes, cupping his cheek, and he hauls in a breath and gazes down at her.

And then she sees it, what he can’t say, and she doesn’t know that she could say it either. It’s not just fear, though he _is_ afraid. It’s everything. It’s the sheer fact of her, of this, of how much this _matters_ to him, of how every point of contact with her is bearing the weight of the world for him. It’s not that he doesn’t want her. It’s that he wants her so _much,_ his cock thick and rock-hard against the inside of her thigh, his rough skin burning under her hand.

He wants her so much, it’s bleeding out of him in tears.

It’s heavy. It’s weighing him down. So maybe she should lift it off him.

“You don’t have to,” she says softly.

He blinks, clearly confused. “Huh?”

“You don’t have to. Not if you don’t want to. Not right now. You don’t have to do anythin’.” This time her smile isn’t so cautious. It doesn’t need to be. Nothing about this should be heavy. “We can just… We can just be here. Or you can just kiss me. You can just-”

Which is as far as she gets before he’s doing exactly that - tentative, the way he was when he first did, but only for a moment, and then as she parts her lips for him he pushes into her mouth with a quiet groan, licking along her tongue. She sighs and arches under him, opens her legs wider - opens _herself_ wider, because maybe he doesn’t have to fuck her tonight if he doesn’t want to, but no way in hell is he going to doubt that she wants him to.

Suddenly it’s not so clumsy. Or if it is, it’s because there’s nothing graceful about the way she rolls up and over and tight against his chest when he tugs her by the hip, tilting his jaw so she can kiss him even deeper. He stiffens when she hooks her leg over the back of his thigh, but he doesn’t flinch, and he groans again, ragged, as she rocks against him, her clit throbbing with combined relief and need at the pressure.

He’s panting when he lifts his head and looks down at her, his lips shining and swollen. His shyness isn’t gone, and he’s still not certain, but he’s smiling at her. Only a little, but he is.

“Kiss you?”

“Yeah.” She leans up and nuzzles him. “You can do whatever you want, Daryl.”

“I wanna kiss you.”

She laughs, and it lowers into a moan as his hand slides from her hip down to her ass and subtly rearranges her, lines his cock up with her pussy and works with her into a slow, uneven grind, and she wants him in her so bad she could scream, but this is so good: kissing him like it’s the only thing either of them could ever want, kissing him until they can both hardly breathe, and he’s shaking.

So is she.


End file.
